


Angel ‘o Mine

by LipstickAndVibranium (CopperMarigolds)



Category: Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-18
Updated: 2017-05-18
Packaged: 2018-11-02 07:56:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 778
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10940259
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CopperMarigolds/pseuds/LipstickAndVibranium
Summary: Sometimes, Bucky just isn’t sure what to make of you.





	Angel ‘o Mine

(Gif source: [x](http://captaincentenarian.tumblr.com/post/149715420237))

He doesn’t know what to make of you. You’d think after months of knowing you, he’d be a little more sure of himself. He is, really. It’s just around you that his heart races and his palms sweat. You make him feel alive, and more than that, you make him feel human.

It’s still dark outside when he wakes in a cold sweat, his hands shaky and blood pounding in his ears. All he can think of is the calm that you bring to him, and the safe warmth of your arms.

He thinks back to the first time you’d hugged him. He was startled, and a little worried that somehow he’d hurt you - but he enjoyed it. He was loathe to admit that after that moment, he felt touch-starved. 70 years spent as HYDRA’s puppet, being wiped and yanked around left little room for any tenderness. It’s that softness that he aches for, and that’s what drives him to your room across the hall of the compound.

He stands at your door, ready to knock, but the door just swings open. Bucky’s still unsettled by FRIDAY’s intuitive nature, but slides thankfully into your room nonetheless.

It’s still a mess - clothes piled around like anthills. He takes comfort in the familiarity as he maneuvers around your room until he reaches your bedside.

You’re peaceful as you sleep, nose pressed into the pillow. You look almost content, and he hates the idea of waking you. Your scolding rings in his head, though. The last time he’d hesitated to wake you resulted in one hell of a talk, all to tell him that he’d better wake you the next time.

This time was it.

He lets his right hand, flesh and blood, slide over your shoulder. He gives it a little squeeze, and it’s like you’re tuned to him because your eyes flutter open, landing on him. Your brow furrows as you look him over, yet you say nothing as you push yourself up and into his arms.

He doesn’t deserve it.

He’s spilled so much blood over the years, and he doesn’t deserve this kindness.

“I know you’re overthinking, Bucks.” you say, squeezing just a little tighter. “I’m glad you woke me.”

He says nothing, daring to let himself enjoy the hug. His head drops to your neck, breathing in the scent of you as you rub circles into his back. Every point of contact is marked in his mind as his skin comes alive under you. The feeling in his hands come back to him, the electricity of your touch making him _feel_ again.

He’s not sure how you do it- knowing exactly what he needs at that very moment. He’s quite sure you might be an actual angel, sent to guide him out of his scrambled mind. You, in your infinite beauty and kindness, have managed to give him a foothold in reality. You never babied him, nor spoke down to him. Always patient and always kind, you gave him tools to dig himself out of his mind. Never once did you make him feel inferior for needing help, either. You let him be his own person, fight his own battles, but never made him feel like he was alone in his endeavors. That was what made you so precious to him.

You pull away a little, and he holds you tighter.

“Buck, c’mon,” you murmur into his chest as you pull him backwards to the bed. “C’mon and get some sleep.”

He goes willingly, hardly parting from you as you pull him under the covers. You settle in, letting him pull you as close as he can manage. He lets his metal hand slide across your waist, chilled fingers brushing along the strip of skin bared between your shorts and shirt. He loves the sigh you make at the coolness against your warm skin, and revels in the way you nestle further into his embrace. It isn’t until you press a sweet and sleepy kiss to his collarbone that he lets himself really relax into the mattress.

Morning comes in a flash, and he’s awake before you. Light streams in through the blinds, casting golden stripes across your form. He’d slept so peacefully, and you look so beautiful, that for a moment he thinks he’s still dreaming. Afraid that you’re a figment of his imagination, and will disappear as soon as his eyes open. Then your eyes flicker open, and a soft smile pulls like taffy on your face as you slide a warm hand over his jaw.

“Good morning, James,” you say, soft and sweet.

 _Indeed_ , the thinks. _A good morning indeed._

**Author's Note:**

> Find me at [lipstickandvibranium.tumblr.com](https://lipstickandvibranium.tumblr.com)


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